


Baked Goods

by Ilovecastiel18



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Kissing, Love Confessions, Marijuana, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-19 06:35:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22373482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilovecastiel18/pseuds/Ilovecastiel18
Summary: Back in the late 1960’s, Crowley convinced Aziraphale to experiment with marijuana. They got closer than they had ever been before, and shared things that they normally wouldn't say. Now, after the Apocalypse, Crowley tries to get Aziraphale to experiment with teh drug again, to find some comfort that he so desperately needs. Marijuana, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff. One-Shot.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 54





	Baked Goods

**Author's Note:**

> I’m a pothead, and I tend to get very emotional when I’m high (as long as I’m not so high that I can hardly form correct sentences, which has happened). I wanted Crowley and Aziraphale to share a close moment with each other as I have with several people that I have smoked with. Just know that I have enough experience with marijuana that these accounts will be pretty accurate to what it’s like to be high. And please leave a review if you like it!

**Disclaimer:** Good Omens, along with its characters, locations, etc. are the property of Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. If I owned the rights to it, I wouldn’t still be desperate to meet the man that I absolutely ADORE: David Tennant.

……….

Baked Goods

……….

_Soho, London, May of 1968_

“Aziraphale!” Crowley yelled as he strolled into the bookshop, shoving the keys to the Bentley in his pocket and holding a suspicious brown paper bag in his hand.

“Crowley, I’m right here.” Aziraphale sighed as he looked up from the book he was reading, which was perched on the counter next to the hardly used cash register.

“Wonderful. Care to close the shop for the rest of the day? You never sell anything anyway, and I figured we’d spend the rest of the evening doing something _fun.”_ Crowley shook the brown paper bag ominously.

“Crowley, I’m busy…” Aziraphale sighed, acting as if he wasn’t curious about what was in the bag.

“With what? Reading? You read all the time; you can put the book away until I leave tonight. Live a little, Aziraphale.” Crowley argued.

“I’ve lived plenty, my dear. Whatever you have in that bag is something that I have probably experienced before. And I honestly probably don’t want to experience it again unless it has something to do with alcohol, books, or pastries.” Aziraphale sighed, bookmarking and closing his book, setting it aside next to the cash register.

“It’s similar to alcohol in some ways. Impairs one’s senses, if you know what I mean…” Crowley answered cryptically.

Aziraphale gave Crowley a reproachful look. “Crowley, if you are about to tell me that there is marijuana in that bag…” he started to argue.

“Have you ever tried it before?” Crowley cut him off.

“No, but…”

“Then it’s settled. I’ve tried it before and I think it is something that you would enjoy, or at least something that you should experience at least once. Do you trust me?” Crowley cut Aziraphale off again.

Aziraphale sighed. “You know I trust you, my dear. You play that card often enough that you must know it by now.” Aziraphale snapped his fingers and locked the front door, flipping the sign to “close” so no one would wander in the shop while the two beings smoked illegal drugs.

“I hope you know how to do this, Crowley, because I am entirely unexperienced and have very little knowledge on how to ingest tetrahydrocannabinol.” Aziraphale said as he slowly walked toward the back room, which was separated from the rest of the shop by a curtain.

“How to ingest _what?”_

“THC, dear. It’s one of the main compounds in marijuana and is the part that gets a person ‘high.’” Aziraphale explained, sitting in his usual armchair.

“Okay, first of all, just say THC next time. Nobody on Earth knows what tetra-whatever-the-hell is unless they’re chemists. Second, you should probably move over here and sit on the couch with me so it’s easier to pass between us. And third, you might want some water if this is your first time smoking this stuff.” Crowley shot back, taking two lighters, six joints, four blunts, a glass pipe, and a rather large baggie of marijuana out of the brown paper bag.

“Why?” Aziraphale asked. He stood from his chair and moved to sit next to Crowley, snapping his fingers to conjure two very large glasses of ice water.

“Shit’s kinda dry, it burns a little on the way down. Especially the first time.” Crowley answered. “What do you wanna do first?”

“I don’t know what any of this is. It also looks like a lot; don’t humans usually smoke only one little marijuana cigarette to get high?” Aziraphale answered, eyeballing the weed with a look of apprehension on his face.

“We have a higher tolerance than humans, Aziraphale. You know we need to drink more than them to get drunk. We’re gonna have to smoke more than humans with the highest of tolerances for the stuff if we want to get anything more than a buzz. But we don’t have to smoke all of this today.” Crowley picked up one of the joints. “These are joints, they’re packed and smoked like cigarettes. These,” he picked up a blunt, “are blunts, they’re packed and smoked like cigars. And this,” he pointed to the artfully blown glass pipe “is a pipe. I would pack the little bowl on the end, and we would smoke it. I’m not sure what to compare that to.” He explained.

“I guess we can start with the cigarette ones – joints?” Aziraphale answered skeptically. Crowley passed him one of the matching lighters – silver, with a marijuana leaf etched into the surface, and one of the joints. “Smoke it just like a cigarette, angel.”

They sat in companionable silence as they smoked their first and second joints each. Crowley could tell that the weed was starting to hit Aziraphale when the angel tipped over and leaned against Crowley’s shoulder. He looked down and noticed that Aziraphale’s eyes were pink.

“Angel, if you wanna stop for tonight…”

“Nooooo. Let’s finish the rest of it.” Aziraphale whined.

Crowley chuckled. “Alright.” He leaned forward and grabbed two of the blunts and their lighters off the table. “Light it up.”

Aziraphale didn’t move from his position against Crowley’s shoulder, which meant that the smoke from his blunt was wafting right into Crowley’s face.

“Angel…” Crowley laughed as he coughed out the smoke that he hadn’t been intending to ingest.

“Oh, sorry, dear.” Aziraphale moved from Crowley’s shoulder and almost tipped over the other way. He caught himself just before his head hit the arm of the couch. Crowley laughed again. He was starting to feel the buzz himself, but he had smoked marijuana enough times that it wasn’t affecting him nearly as much as it was affecting Aziraphale.

“It’s a good thing that it’s impossible to overdose on marijuana, or else you might need a trip to Heaven’s emergency room.” Crowley laughed as he lit his blunt and took a heavy draw.

“It’s ‘mpossible to overdose on weed?” Aziraphale asked.

“Well, technically it’s possible, but it’s impossible to smoke the amount of weed necessary in the time frame that’s required to overdose.” Crowley answered.

“Interesting.” Aziraphale slurred. He took several long draws from his blunt., finishing it and setting it in the ashtray that he had conjured for the butts.

Crowley finished his blunt at the same time as Aziraphale, swaying as he sat forward to throw the butt in the ashtray. “Maybe we shouldn’t smoke anything else, especially out of the pipe, we’re pretty stoned…” he started to say.

“C’mon, Crowley. It’s impossible to overdose. We should finish it. Couldn’t hurt.” Aziraphale pleaded.

“If you insist. You know I can’t say no to you.” Crowley sighed, opening the baggie and packing the pipe. “We’ll have to share this though; I only have one pipe.”

“I will relish any opportunity to be close to you, dear.” Aziraphale whispered, unable to stop himself because of the large amounts of THC coursing through his brain. He also couldn’t stop himself from inching closer to Crowley, crowding the demon’s persona space and just barely stopping himself from resting his head against Crowley’s shoulder.

Crowley blushed but didn’t respond, holding the packed pipe to his mouth and lighting the weed inside. The smoke from the pipe just added to the horrible smell in the room, but they could miracle that away in the morning. They were having a fantastic time bathing in the pungent odor.

Crowley was far past his limit, he never smoked more than a couple of joints at once. To smoke this much in such a short period of time… Crowley could feel the dopey smile that adorned his face, could tell that he was squinting and that his eyes were bloodshot. Looking down at Aziraphale, he could tell that the angel’s eyes were bright red. What was more, Aziraphale was practically wrapped around Crowley’s arm in his altered state, something that he never did when they drank together.

Recreational drugs were definitely a force to be reckoned with.

They passed the pipe between one another, packing it twice more. At this point, they were both stoned out of their minds. They finished the other two joints and blunts, just to top everything off, before Crowley packed everything away in a mason jar that he somehow managed to conjure, to trap the smell, and leaned back into the couch.

“…whoa.” He whispered, watching the ceiling spin. He was just starting to make out the shape of constellations in the paint on the ceiling when Aziraphale tipped sideways and snuggled up next to him; whether by accident or on purpose, Crowley wasn’t sure.

“This is very ‘trippy,’ as the kids say.” Aziraphale muttered, wrapping an arm around Crowley’s bicep and nuzzling his temple into the demon’s shoulder.

“Yeah.” Crowley stuttered.

They sat in silence for a moment before Aziraphale spoke up again. “Crowley, dear, I hope you know that I care for you very much. Whatever happens in the future, whether the apocalypse is in ten years or a thousand, know that I will always do my best to protect and care for you. Not that you need protection, but you know what I mean.” He slurred, slumping further into Crowley.

“I know, angel. Same for you.” Crowley wanted to say more, but the THC clogging his brain wasn’t letting him form coherent sentences.

Aziraphale paused again. “You’re my best friend,” he whispered. “if anything happens to you…” he trailed off, briefly squeezing Crowley’s arm in worry.

“You’re my best friend, my only friend really. I couldn’t lose you, either, angel.” Crowley responded, forcing his brain to form words. English words, specifically.

“Yes, I feel the same way. I don’t care for anyone in the same capacity as I care for you, dear. Really.”

Crowley made a very undignified noise and sunk further into the couch cushions, making Aziraphale’s head flop onto his chest rather than his shoulder. He very carefully wrapped an arm around Aziraphale’s back, brushing the angel’s fluffy curls away from his forehead.

“I love you, Aziraphale.” He whispered.

“I love you, Crowley, always. Whatever comes to pass, I will be there for you.” Aziraphale snuggled impossibly closer to Crowley, wrapping an arm around the demon’s middle.

That’s the way they laid until they both fell asleep for the next two days. When Crowley woke, sprawled on the couch by himself with a blanket draped over him, Aziraphale was making tea in the upstairs flat, seemingly without any recollection of their conversation from two nights previous.

Crowley sighed as he stood from the couch and stretched, making his way upstairs to greet his best friend. He had hoped that Aziraphale would remember, but maybe it was best that he forgot…

When he walked into the kitchen, Aziraphale greeted him as politely as ever, offering him tea, coffee, and fresh scones. Crowley accepted a cup of coffee and sipped on it as he watched Aziraphale putter around the kitchen.

He knew that he had been far past his limits when they had indulged in marijuana a few nights previous, and that meant that Aziraphale had been practically insane. He had no doubt that Aziraphale didn’t remember anything. And even if he did, he would probably think it was a figment of his imagination, or a dream, and it hadn’t actually happened.

Crowley sighed inwardly as he took a sip of his coffee: perfectly black, and at the perfect temperature.

He loved Aziraphale, and he was sure that Aziraphale loved him, but that was a conversation for another time…

……….

_Soho, London, three weeks after the Apocalypse…_

It had been three weeks since the world tried and failed to end, and Crowley was having a hard time coping.

He and Aziraphale had been spending more and more time together since the events of a few weeks previous, but Crowley needed more than being in the same room as the angel.

What Crowley wanted, needed, even, was to bury his face in Aziraphale’s shoulder and cry for several hours while the angel rubbed his back and whispered soothing words in his ear. Crowley needed Aziraphale to be more than his enemy – turned – business partner – turned friend. He needed Aziraphale to love him more than he has ever loved him before.

The problem was that Crowley didn’t know how to brooch the subject with the angel. He didn’t want to come outright and say that he honestly, genuinely, wanted to drink a gallon of holy water and forget everything that had ever happened to him. He couldn’t go and ask Aziraphale for a hug. The angel might oblige, but it would completely _ruin_ Crowley’s reputation.

The only things that had ever gotten Aziraphale to open up about anything were alcohol and marijuana. And since Aziraphale had always possessed a very high tolerance for alcohol…

Crowley called one of his associates as he next day at two in the afternoon (the time that most of his stoner friends woke up and started their day), asking for a rather large amount of marijuana.

Despite the fact that Crowley hadn’t smoked any weed since the early 1980s, he still had his pipe that he had bought the first time he had ever tried the stuff, as well as some cigar wraps and cigarette paper used to roll blunts and joints.

And with the amount of marijuana that he picked up at seven o’clock… yes, he would definitely get Aziraphale to admit that he loves him again.

Crowley really was in desperate need of some comfort, so he decided that he would bring his purchase over to the bookshop that night. He pulled up onto the curb in front of the shop at 7:15, driving the thirty miles from his pickup point to Soho in less than ten minutes, with a quick stop at a bakery for snacks for Aziraphale.

“Angel!” he called as he sauntered into the bookshop without even knocking.

“Crowley? I didn’t know we had plans tonight.” Aziraphale answered, walking out from the backroom with a bookmarked book in his hands.

“We didn’t. I just figured we could, ya know, hang out or whatever. I brought goodies.” Crowley held out the big pink box stuffed with pastries to Aziraphale, letting the hand with the telltale brown paper bag drop to his side.

Aziraphale’s face lit up with he saw the box of treats, from his favorite bakery, obviously. This made Crowley’s heart soar, something that it hadn’t done since the world almost ended.

“Oh, Crowley, you shouldn’t have. You’re too kind to me.” Aziraphale set aside his book so he could open the box and survey the baked goods.

“I’m not kind, angel.” Crowley bit back automatically.

Aziraphale gave him a disapproving look. “I think we’ve moved past that mindset, haven’t we?” he said darkly.

“Yes, yes, fine. I’m nice to you. But nobody else!” Crowley conceded.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, dear. What’s in the bag?” Aziraphale asked, finally noticing the bag that Crowley was holding down by his side.

“Take a guess. What did we do the last time I had one of these brown paper bags?” Crowley smirked, taking his sunglasses off and putting them in his jacket pocket.

“You brought marijuana?” Aziraphale exclaimed.

“That I did, angel. Care to join me?” Crowley mockingly motioned in front of himself before making his way to the back room and disappearing behind the curtain, leaving Aziraphale in the front of the bookshop with the box of pastries in his hands.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale bustled after him, setting the pink box on the coffee table in the middle of the back room. “Marijuana is illegal!”

“What’s your point?” Crowley laughed. “It was illegal when we did it last time. And there was more of a taboo back then. Nowadays people are practically expected to smoke weed.”

“But still!”

“Aziraphale…” Crowley sat up from where he had been sprawled on the couch. “If you really don’t want to do it, we obviously don’t have to. I just want to be close to you again, the way we were when we smoked back in ’68.”

Aziraphale paused to think. “I don’t remember much from that night; all I remember is falling into you several times and eventually… oh…” Aziraphale quietly sat in his armchair.

“I didn’t think you remembered, I was far past my limits and I had smoked a far amount of weed before that night. I’m not surprised that you were so stoned that you can hardly remember.” Crowley muttered, looking at the floor.

“What’s wrong, Crowley. It sounds like you need comfort…”

“S’nothing, angel. I’ll just leave, let you finish your book and your treats by yourself…” Crowley stood from the couch and made his way toward the curtain, only to be forcibly stopped by Aziraphale grabbing onto his bicep so hard that he couldn’t move.

“Don’t… don’t leave. I want to know what’s bothering you and I want to help. You’re my best friend, Crowley. Everything I said that night was true, I was just too scared to say it any other time.”

“Aziraphale, you don’t have to say things to make me feel better. I’ll be fine.” Crowley rebutted.

“Crowley, please look at me.” Aziraphale pleaded. Unable to ever deny the angel something that he wanted, Crowley turned and lifted his head so he could look into Aziraphale’s bright blue eyes, which were swimming in tears.

“I mean it. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Aziraphale gently tugged Crowley back toward the couch, pulling him down so they were sitting very close together. Aziraphale pulled Crowley down even farther, so the demon’s head was resting in his lap. He started to gently run his fingers through Crowley’s hair.

“I don’t really know what’s wrong, angel. Ever since the Apocalypse I’ve kind of felt like I was drowning. I don’t really feel anything anymore, and I don’t know what to make of that.” Crowley said softly.

“My dear… it sounds like you have depression. Or PTSD.” Aziraphale said carefully, still running his fingers through fiery red hair.

“Maybe. I just can’t believe that Heaven and Hell were willing to kill every single human and destroy the entire planet just to see who was better. I mean, Hell is vile, and Heaven is cruel, but to kill _everyone?_ To destroy the Almighty’s great creation? I can’t fathom how they all came to agree that the best plan was to task an eleven-year-old to destroy the world so they could fight it out like schoolchildren.” Crowley explained, turning his head and burying it in Aziraphale’s lap.

“I understand, Crowley. I know why you’re struggling; I’m struggling too. But at least we had each other.” Aziraphale watched as Crowley’s shoulders started to shake. “Turn around.” He whispered. Crowley whipped around quickly, too quickly for Aziraphale to catch a glimpse of his face before he buried it in the angel’s shoulder.

Aziraphale wrapped his arms tightly around Crowley, holding him together while he fell apart. “I’m here for you, my dear. I always will be.” He breathed. He felt Crowley’s arms snake around his waist as the demon began to cry even harder.

Aziraphale felt as if Crowley was going to cause an earthquake with how badly he was shaking, but he held on nonetheless. “It’s going to be okay, Crowley.” He whispered against the demon’s hair.

Crowley’s sobs eventually started to slow, and Aziraphale loosened his grip on the demon just enough so that he could sit up if he wanted to.

When Crowley did sit up, with puffy, bloodshot eyes and tear stains on his cheeks, Aziraphale almost cried himself. He conjured a soft, damp rag and used it to wipe the tear tracks off his friend’s face.

“Do you feel better, my love?” Aziraphale asked, letting his hand linger against Crowley’s cheek.

Crowley gave a short nod. “Thank you.” He rasped out.

“I would do anything for you, my dear. I meant what I said earlier; I really do love and care about you, just as I said back when we used marijuana in 1968. I was just so terrified of Heaven and Hell that I refused to think about or talk about it before or after that night. I didn’t want you to be discorporated, tortured, or killed because an angel loved you.”

“I understand.” Crowley croaked. Aziraphale conjured a glass of ice water and offered it to the demon, who accepted it gratefully. “I… uh… I love you too, Aziraphale.” Crowley muttered after he downed a third of the glass of water. “I always have. I really needed you tonight, that’s why I brought the marijuana. I was hoping you would tell me that you loved me again.”

“Now that we are free from Heaven and Hell, it won’t take any recreational drugs to make me say that, Crowley. I love you. I will _always_ love you. From the depths of my soul, I love you more than words could possibly express. More than I love any of the Almighty’s other creations. You are the star around which I orbit, my love. I will make sure that you know this every day for the rest of eternity.” Aziraphale whispered. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Crowley’s.

“Oh angel…” Crowley murmured. Aziraphale trailed a finger down Crowley’s jawline, lingering on the snake tattoo by his ear, which elicited a small gasp from the demon.

“Whatever happens, whether the next Holy War happens in ten years or one hundred thousand, I promise to be by your side no matter what, Crowley. I am devoted to you, entirely.” Aziraphale whispered.

Crowley leaned forward and, as a way of responding, kissed Aziraphale briefly. This elicited a small gasp from the angel, mimicking the one that Crowley let out a few moments earlier.

“I love you.” Crowley whispered as he pulled back. Aziraphale smiled, grabbing ahold of Crowley’s hand and lacing their fingers together.

“Well, I think you have me convinced now, my dear. Let’s try some of those _baked goods,_ if you know what I mean…”


End file.
